


Potato Science

by VivaRocksteady



Series: Influenceverse (Jacob Cozner-Holt AU) [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: AU, Adoption, Cooking, Food, Gen, Jake is 12, Jake loves his daddies and wants them to be happy, Kevin and Ray adopted Jake, deux ex gina, kid activities, lying to your parents, preteen gina's amazing fashion sense, which we all know is canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-04-16 03:49:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivaRocksteady/pseuds/VivaRocksteady
Summary: "Pardon?" said Jake. "Junior chef class?""Yes," Pop swirled his wine in his glass. "Your new Thursday night activity. We told you about this last week."Seriously? The one night he thought he didn't have any activities? Jake's heart sank as he said goodbye to his freedom.--Part of an AU where Holt and Kevin adopted Jake as a baby.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read "Influence" here are some deets:  
> Holt and Kevin adopted Jake when he was about six months old. Karen had him as a teenager.  
> Jake "met" Karen when he was five, and visits with her once a month.  
> Holt and Kevin are also younger than in canon, even though this story takes place in present day. Holt is a sergeant at the 9-9. 
> 
> Jake, Gina, and Charles are 12 in this story.

The seventh graders had their lunch at 11:00 AM. Jake sat at his usual spot waiting for his friends to come back from the lunch line, his Spider-Man lunch bag sitting untouched on the table. 

As he expected, Charles hurried through the lunch line at lightning speed. He ran back to the table, eyes bright, and slammed his tray down. “What is it today, Jakey?”

Jake sighed, looking covetously at Charles’ bright yellow mac and cheese and crispy brown tater tots. He grudgingly unzipped his lunch bag. “Ugh, this weird Brussels sprout thing.”

Charles groaned, eyes closed. “Oh, it smells divine. Is that chorizo? And chestnut?”

“I guess. Swap again?” He usually tried to wait a little before giving Charles his lunch, because the other boy would never outright ask for it, and it was fun to watch him pine and squirm. But Jake was hungry today. He’d given half his breakfast of chia chai porridge to Cheddar. And the school’s mac and cheese was starting to get that sweaty, plasticy skin that was just begging Jake to peel it off and eat it.

Charles’ face lit up. “Can we?” he squealed, like this didn’t happen almost every day. 

They hurriedly swapped their lunches— Charles’ basic school plan mac and cheese, tater tots, sad, wilting broccoli (which neither of them would have eaten) and carton of chocolate milk for Jake’s mashed Brussels sprout with chorizo and chestnut, tabbouleh salad, home-made macarons, and small glass bottle of Orangina. 

“Mmm!” Charles savoured the Brussels mash. “Your pop is the best chef I know!”

“What about your dad?” Jake asked around his mouthful of mass-produced mac and cheese. 

“Your pop is the best chef my dad knows,” Charles said. 

Mr. Boyle loved weird food as much as Charles did. Their whole family was like that. Every summer Charles would visit cousins upstate, or in Iowa, and return to talk about how they all made bread with hundred year old yeast, or buried an entire deer in an underground smoke pit and then made jelly out of its bones, or other weird stuff like that. He’d tell these stories while Gina and Jake made grossed out faces at each other, and then he’d _tut tut_ at them for eating bulk mix-n-match candy. “You’re going to ruin your palate!” he’d cry in dismay, like Jake didn’t get enough of that from Pop.

But since Mr. Boyle and Mrs. Boyle got divorced last year, Mr. Boyle stopped sending Charles to school with lunches, and put him on the school’s free lunch plan. Mr. Boyle had to work two jobs, and Charles said he didn’t have time to cook much anymore, and they started doing all their shopping at Didldidi, which Jake hadn’t even heard of before.

Sometimes on Mondays, or after a holiday, Charles would bring leftovers for lunch, and on those days they didn’t swap. Charles loved his dad’s lunches too much, and anyways they always had something _extra_ weird in them, like octopus balls. 

But that hadn’t happened for over a month, and Charles had never said Jake’s pop was a better cook than his dad before. 

“Whatcha got there, Charles?" Gina breezed over to their table. 

Charles opened his mouth. 

"Just kidding!" Gina plopped herself next to Jake, helping herself to a tater tot. "I'm not interested!" 

Gina usually had lunch with them, but she was very popular, and had a lot of different friend groups. She was so popular she transcended popularity— her words— so even though she hung out the most with Jake and Charles, who weren’t particularly cool, she was still the coolest. 

Today she was wearing metallic wedge heel sneakers, one of her mom's cocktail dresses that was big enough on her to not break the dress code, a feather boa, and pink shutter shades she didn't take off even during class. 

“Jake’s pop made a beautiful Brussels sprout mash,” Charles said anyway. “It’s simply heavenly!” 

“Ugh!" Gina looked scandalized. "Don't say Brussels sprouts when people are trying to eat!" 

Like Jake, Gina was also not on the school’s lunch program, but that was because her mom just gave her cash. Sometimes Gina brought lunch, or had leftovers from a restaurant from a date her mom went on, and sometimes she skipped her noon class to go on eighth grade lunch with her older friends, who were allowed to go to the mall across the street. Lately, though, Gina had only been eating diet soda, yogurt, and Ring Pops, because she and her mom were on a diet. 

“You guys want Ring Pops?” She pulled a bunch out of her bag and tossed them on the table. 

“Noice!” said Jake, who had devoured the school lunch— besides the broccoli— and was two gulps away from finishing the chocolate milk. He took three. 

“No thanks,” said Charles. “I don’t want to spoil these wonderful macarons. I’m saving them for after school.”

“Oh, boy,” Gina said drily. “Speaking of after school, I was thinking of going into Forever 21 and trying some clothes on. Wanna come help me take pics?” Gina waved her phone around. Jake and Charles had cellphones, but they were old boring ones, and they were only for emergencies. Gina had a _real_ phone that had internet, and she was even allowed on Instagram!

“I’d love to!” Charles said. 

Gina and Charles were what Jake’s pop once called “latchkey kids.” That meant that since they only had one parent, and their parents were always working, there was no one looking after them after school, and they had to let themselves into the house. 

Jake thought he must be a latchkey kid, too, because Dad always had weird hours at the police station, and two days a week, Pop had late hours at his university. Jake had to let himself into the house those days. Pop said it was different because Jake had lots of planned activities. “Latchkey kids are idle,” Pop said, “but Cozner-Holt children are prolific.” Jake didn’t know what prolific meant, and he didn’t bother asking. 

“I can’t,” Jake grumbled. “I have oboe.” He didn’t really want to watch Gina pick out clothes in a dumb, girly store, but he’d rather be at the mall than at oboe lessons. He could at least look at sneakers or video games or something. 

“Band practice finishes at 3:30,” Charles said. He played viola, and the two of them were in the school orchestra together. 

“I can wait for band practice. I can always watch the football team,” Gina grinned, typing something on her phone. 

“This is extra practice,” Jake mumbled. 

“Extra?! But you’re already the star of the band!” Charles proclaimed. 

“I know, I guess I’m just so awesome that Dad wants me to go for the Royal Conservatory,” Jake scowled. 

Gina looked confused/grossed out, while Charles’ jaw dropped. “I don’t know what that is,” he said, “but it sounds really impressive!”

“I didn’t know what it was either, but apparently people who play in symphonies and stuff do it. So I have to have private lessons every week and then do an exam.” Jake whined and squirmed. “Why’d I have to be so good at oboe?!”

Gina crinkled her nose. “Last week you said all your French lessons and crap were finished, and you could hang out again.”

“I thought they were!” Jake cried. All last semester he had French lessons (which he hated), karate (which he liked) and ballet (which was the worst of all.) Those programs were all finished now, though karate was coming back soon. There was also Brooklyn Scouts, but that was only twice a month. And Jake liked Scouts, and was really good at it.

Last week, when he thought he didn’t have any stupid activities, was crazy fun. Jake and Charles and Gina hung out after school, doing nothing, going to the arcade, the movies, watching TV or playing video games at someone’s house, unsupervised. It was awesome. 

Then his dads told him he had _new activities_ starting this week!

“This is BS,” Gina declared. “We hardly ever get to see you. I should march over there and give Kevin and Ray a piece of my mind!”

Charles, who was genuinely afraid of Jake’s dad, went white. His eyes widened, but he said nothing, because he was almost as scared of Gina. 

“I knowwww,” Jake whined again. He sucked on his Ring Pop sulkily. 

The bell rang. “Well, it’s time for cool kid lunch,” Gina said. “Tell Mr. Tyson I’m not in science class because beautiful girls don't need science. Later, losers.” 

—

Jake wasn’t on the school’s lunch program because his pop didn’t approve of it. 

When Jake was little, he went to a private school. They served hot food in a small cafeteria that was pretty much just kid-versions of the food Jake was getting at home. 

Halfway through third grade, Jake moved to public school, which he liked a lot better. He liked hanging out with girls, and not having to wear a uniform, and he made lots of friends. At his old school, he made friends, but sometimes their parents were really snotty, especially when they met his dads, or when they found out about his mom. 

Jake only met his mom when he was just starting first grade, so he talked about her a lot, and some of the kids were jerks about it. They were jerks to anybody who was different, really. 

Jake’s dads were pretty easygoing about Jake switching to public school. They were very nosy about his handouts and assignments and homework, but they were nosy before anyway. Dad was always going over their _safety plan_ for if a bad guy ever came to the school and tried to hurt kids. There were lots of variations on it, because a bad guy could be anyone, like a parent, or a teacher who turned bad, or even another kid. Dad’s plan was so thorough that the school even had him come in and teach it to everybody, which was pretty embarrassing. 

Besides the safety plan, the only other issues Jake’s dads had with the public school was the food. 

Well, it was really only Pop who had a problem. Dad didn’t care about food. Pop spent a lot of time cooking very refined dishes and would get upset when Dad didn’t ooh and aah over them. Jake heard them argue about it a lot more than they thought he did.

Every year when school started again, Pop would sit Jake down and give him the lunch talk. 

“You are not to eat _anything_ served in that cafeteria,” he would say. “I don’t care if your friends like it, I don’t care if it looks good. You are to eat the lunches I give you and nothing else.”

Once he tried to tell Jake the cafeteria food would make him sick, but Jake had been secretly eating it for about a year now, and nothing bad had happened yet. 

Jake didn’t talk back about lunch, though. He talked back about a lot of things, but lunch was a lost cause. Just like when Pop and Dad fought, Pop always won when it came to food. 

“He’s a child,” Dad tried to argue once. He stood cross-armed while Pop was fussing over the stove. “He does not need your culinary pretension.”

“This is _not_ pretentious,” Pop said. “This is child-friendly, with simple elements. It's perfectly balanced for his nutritional needs, and has just a touch of whimsy.” He delicately placed a sprig of something green atop the small cup of stew, or whatever it was. 

“It’s excessive,” Dad grumbled. “And needlessly expensive. The school lunch program breaks down to pennies per meal.”

Pop’s ears turned red. “It breaks down to pennies per meal because it is nutritionally void, uses protein from animals kept in deplorable conditions, and relies on a system that exploits vulnerable people for cheap labour. Not to mention the well-documented detrimental affects of sugar on children’s brains. The whole thing is really a handy illustration of America’s inevitable slide into diseased mediocrity.”

Dad grit his teeth. “That doesn’t mean his only alternative is a three-course meal from Per Se every lunch hour!” 

“Fine.” Pop took off his apron and folded it. “If the both of you dislike my cooking so much—” this was a common refrain from their fights— “you can make his lunches yourself. Please excuse me.” He turned and walked briskly out to the garden.

Dad scowled and turned stiffly, and saw Jake peeking out from the doorway. 

“I'm sorry you had to see such an ugly exchange,” he said. 

“Oh, that? Hardly noticed." Jake said. It was their typical routine-- he'd pretend they weren't fighting, even when it was so bad one of them shut the door slightly harder than usual. Other people might not even realize they were fighting, but Jake always knew, and he hated when he was the cause. 

“Well,” Dad cleared his throat. “I know you want to be a police officer, Jacob, so from now on, you’ll eat the way I do.”

“…Awesome,” said Jake. 

That week, Jake’s lunch was the same each day— a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, something called “Nutrition Brick” that came in “no flavour,” and a stainless steel bottle of tap water that hit Jake in the fillings so hard he couldn’t even drink from it. 

The sandwich wasn’t terrible, but it was definitely boring after two days. Charles looked at Jake’s lunches in dismay, and Gina laughed really hard when Jake tried to convince other kids the Nutrition Brick was yummy. 

“Mmm!” Jake said, after taking the smallest bite possible. “Soo good!” He could barely swallow it. It’s like his body didn’t even recognize it as food. Obviously, nobody was fooled, and nobody would swap lunch with him. 

At the end of that week they had a half day, and Jake went to the precinct to have lunch with his dad. 

Dad primly ate his own sandwich and watched Jake pick at his food. Normally, Jake loved visiting the police station, and had lots to tell his dad. Dad would say something like “You certainly are talkative today,” which was his way of telling Jake to shut up for a minute. But today, Jake couldn’t think of anything to say at all, besides how much he hated his lunch. 

“You don’t like it, do you?” Dad finally asked. “Tell me the truth.”

“I mean… at least Pop’s food _tastes_ like something.” 

Dad sighed. “I suppose one of us will have to apologize to him.” 

“I’m not the one who fought with him,” Jake said. 

Dad narrowed his eyes the way he always did when Jake was being smart-mouthed. He waved out at the bullpen. “Detective Jeffords,” he called.

Uncle Terry grinned as he came into the break room. “Hey, Sarge. Hey, Jake! How’s it going, little man?” He raised out his arms for high-fives, and Jake laughed as he jumped up to try and reach them. 

“Do a favour for me,” Dad said, getting some bills out of his wallet. “Take Jacob to get some fast food.” 

—

Sometimes Jake’s lunch was really yummy, like lasagna, but more often there was something Jake really hated, like Brussels sprouts, or almonds, or carrots. The worst was when it was something Jake had never tried before. There were a lot of things Jake would leap into without thinking about first, but he really didn’t like eating new stuff. Luckily, Charles always wanted to try it. 

Pop really was a great chef, and he was usually right about food. When he made stuff like spaghetti and meatballs, or burgers, or pizza, they were so delicious that there were never any leftovers for Jake’s lunches. (Pop also said burgers and pizza were a “sometimes food,” and not appropriate for lunch, though the cafeteria had pizza twice a week, so Jake didn’t really see the problem.) 

Sometimes, at a restaurant, Pop would tell Jake or Dad to change their order. “You’ll like this better, I promise,” he would say. And he was always right. 

Last summer, they spent three weeks living in a house in France while Pop was writing a book. Every morning, Pop would go out in his bicycle to a bakery, and buy baguettes. Jake would wake up to the smell of freshly made hot chocolate, and his _breakfast_ would be dipping the bread in hot chocolate! 

“This is the kind of breakfast you can only eat in France,” Pop said. “So enjoy it while you can.” 

Even Dad liked Pop’s food sometimes. In France, while Pop was writing his book during the day, Dad and Jake would go out on little day trips. They’d come home to a big dinner, and Dad never complained about the food, and even licked crumbs off his fingers once or twice.

They went to a restaurant in Paris, and Jake went to the bathroom, and when he came back Dad was actually letting Pop hand-feed him some fruit dipped in chocolate. Dad bit Pop’s fingers, and Pop laughed, and Jake made very loud gagging noises so they would knock it off.

They also ate a lot of crazy and delicious fried sandwiches on that trip, and Pop even let him have a little wine when Dad wasn’t looking!

So it’s not that Pop was wrong about food. 

He was just wrong about Jake’s interest in it. 

—

Jake's dads were in a good mood that night. Dad even helped Pop in the kitchen while Jake was doing his homework. He must have gotten a good collar at work, not that he ever told Jake all the cool and gory details.

Pop made spaghetti, and Jake's tongue poked out of his mouth in concentration as he spooled thick noodles onto his fork, trying to break his previous record.

Dad separated his meatballs from the spaghetti and ate them in order from biggest to smallest. "Did you enjoy oboe practice today, Jacob?" he asked.

Jake paused briefly in his spaghetti spooling project. He decided a little white lie was the best policy. "Yeah!" he said. "Super fun!"

"And did you enjoy the lunch I made for you?" Pop asked. His tone was always so trim and lofty, but Jake knew better-- Pop would be devastated if he told him the truth.

He tried to remember what Charles had said. "It was heavenly!"

"Good," Pop looked really happy, his mouth tilting in the slightest smile. "I know you don't usually like Brussels sprouts, but I thought I could finesse them for you." 

"Those were Brussels sprouts?" Jake made a show of looking surprised. "Get out of here."

That tiny little smile curled up the tiniest bit more. Pop was thrilled. Jake was pretty much a genius at handling his dads at this point.

"There's no need to flatter," Pop scolded, falsely. "But if you liked that, then you'll like the junior chef class tomorrow at the Park Slope Kitchen Library."

Jake almost dropped his now-giant spaghetti spool. "What?"

His dads both looked at him sharply.

"I mean, pardon? Junior chef class?"

"Yes," Pop swirled his wine in his glass. "Your new Thursday night activity. We told you about this last week."

"Surely you were paying attention, Jacob," Dad said. Was he being genuine? Was he calling Jake out? It was always so much harder to tell with him than with Pop.

"Oh, uh, yeah, of course. Sorry! Brain fart." He shoved spaghetti in his mouth while they both tutted his language. _Fart_ was a handy diversion, but he had to use it sparingly. 

Seriously, though? The one night he thought he didn't have any activities? His heart sank as he said goodbye to his freedom.

\--

The Park Slope Kitchen Library was a short walk from the school. Pop told him he was to go there straight after school, and he would pick him up after.

"So don't do anything to get yourself detention," he added, with a wry little quirk of the lips to show he was joking.

Luckily, it was early enough that Jake didn't have to pretend to laugh. He nodded, yawning, as he shrugged on his backpack.

"I think you will enjoy this learning experience, Jacob," Pop said, handing him his Spider-Man lunch bag. "You're always such a good little helper in the kitchen."

That wasn't _wrong_. It was just that Jake liked helping _Pop_. He could take or leave the actual cooking. Especially some of the food.

"Text me when you arrive," Pop said, "and have fun." He bent down and kissed Jake on the forehead.

"Ugh!" Jake immediately wiped the kiss off, taking care not to mess up his hair. "Okay, bye!" He ran out of the house in direction of school.

\--

"What kind of things will you learn?" Charles asked, chin in his hands, staring at Jake with unmasked jealousy. They were at their usual table, lunches swapped. Jake was taking his time with the cafeteria's rock hard, room temperature pizza, not knowing what was in store for him after school.

"I don't know. Probably how to be make _boring_ stew and _waste of time_ sauce." 

"I told you this was BS," Gina drawled. Today she was wearing ballet slippers with colourful leggings, and a big chunky sweater with flashing little LEDs in it. She had a headband that looked like cat ears but in metal. She was eating out of a bag of movie theatre popcorn because apparently she and her mom were on a new diet. "You have to be firm with parents." Gina mimicked wagging a finger at a dog. " _No_ Kev, I will _not_ degrade myself with housewife lessons." 

Jake scowled. Charles whined a sigh and lay his head on the table.

"I wish I could trade spots with you. I mean, I always wish I could trade spots with you." He said up straight again, looking earnestly at Jake. "Not that I don't want _you_ to have your life! You totally deserve it!"

"Uh oh," said Gina. "Charles is in a spiral."

"I just mean that now, today, I wish I could trade spots with you for _this_!" Charles proclaimed.

Jake's brow furrowed as he had a brilliant idea. "Charles… what if you could?"

\--

Later that day, three seventh graders stood under the canopy of a nearby vacant shopfront-- formerly part of a pyramid scheme Jake's dad had helped bust!-- and watched as kids trickled into the Park Slope Kitchen Library. It was upstairs from some shopfronts, and next to a yoga studio.

Jake quickly sent off a text to both his dads-- _safe n sound at kitchn libary!_ and an emoji of a fried egg. "Okay, Charles, here's the plan," he said. "Your name is Jake Cozner-Holt, and your dads signed you up. Talk as little as possible, okay? You're not great at lying."

Charles was almost vibrating out of his beige jacket. "I won't say a word!"

"Well, you'll probably have to say some things, buddy. Just as little as you can!"

"Okay!" Charles barked. "I'll tell them how much I love the Kitchen Library. My dad borrowed a stand-up mixer _and_ a dehydrator at the same time once. It was the best week of my life!"

"Yeah, he's going to blow it," said Gina.

"I won't!" Charles hopped from foot to foot. "I won't! I won't! I won't!"

"Wait," Jake said. "Do they know you here?"

"No! I promise. I've never been in, just my dad has."

"Okayyyy," Jake said warily. He checked his phone and had a response from each dad. _Dear Jacob, Glad to hear it. Love, Sergeant Raymond Holt_ and just _xo_ from Pop, which was rare-- usually he would scold Jake's spelling. He must be extra busy with papers.

"I'll be in the stairwell fifteen minutes before class ends to debrief," said Jake. "Pop's always on time-- don't come out until after we're gone or he'll try to give you a ride, and you wouldn't be able to lie to him."

"You're right, I wouldn't," said Charles.

"Just be cool up there, okay? If you draw too much attention to yourself, they'll say something to Pop and our cover will be blown." He pointed an accusatory finger at his friends. "And if I'm going down, I'm taking you both with me!"

"Easy, son," said Gina, pushing his finger away.

"Sorry, Gina. Not you. I just got excited. Okay, put 'em in!"

They all put their hands in a group cheer.

"Go team good time pals!" Charles cried, pushing their hands down hard.

"No, Charles--" Jake started, but Charles was already across the street. He yanked open the doors of the Kitchen Library and pounded up the stairs like Captain America was waiting up there. Or Gordon Ramsey.

"You've just made all his little dreams come true," said Gina, tapping away on her phone.

"I know," said Jake. "It feels good."


	2. Chapter 2

Jake and Gina spent the next hour and a half doing whatever caught their fancy. They bummed around a bodega, rifling through magazines, until they got kicked out, laughing. They played skeeball at the arcade and Jake won a Ninja Turtles keychain. They gossiped a lot, and Jake remembered how fun hanging out with Gina was.

But he started getting a little bored when Gina wouldn't look up from her phone.

"I'm in a Twitter feud with Lorde," she explained. "She thinks she's so cool just because she's super old."

Jake checked the time on his phone. Nothing from Charles or Pop. So far so good.

"Okay," he said. "I have to get going to make the rendezvous on time."

Gina surprised him by grabbing him in a hug. "This was _such_ a good idea!" she said. "I missed hanging out with non-dork Jake!"

Jake laughed and hugged her back.

He went back to the Kitchen Library and stood in the stairwell, up a few steps from the door, and kept an eye on the street. He heard voices and the occasional kid laughing upstairs, but thankfully not Charles' eager oversharing.

As the end of class inched closer, Jake noticed Gertie's signature colour in the corner of his visual on the street. He immediately raced upstairs.

There were several counters with ovens and sinks, like they had on MasterChef. Kids were putting away pots and pans, and putting on their coats and backpacks. Some were talking to the hipster-looking teacher. Charles was talking animatedly with another girl their age.

Jake tiptoed up and tapped Charles' shoulder.

Charles' face lit up. He almost shouted "Jake!" but Jake gave him a look, and he quickly covered. "Jaaaaason, my cousin Jason! How-- how did you know where I was?"

Jake glared at him.

"This is my new friend Genevieve!"

"Hi Jason," she said shyly.

"Nice to meet you," he said. "Jake, can I talk to you?" He grabbed Charles' arm and dragged him to the doorway. Charles dreamily waved at Genevieve as he was dragged off.

The Kitchen Library shared a landing with a yoga studio, and there was a small, unisex bathroom on the landing as well. Luckily it had two stalls, so it didn't look weird for both boys to duck inside.

"So?" Jake asked. "Debrief me!"

"Oh, Jake, it was amazing! We practiced our knife skills, and learned all about potato science. And we made latkes! Look, take-homes!" He held up a greasy brown paper bag.

"Oh, great!" said Jake. "Give it here!"

"What?" Charles clutched the bag close to his chest.

"Well, if they send food home, I have to take it home," Jake said. "Pop will expect it."

"But… I was going to give them to my dad," Charles said weakly. "He loves them."

Jake tried not to roll his eyes. "Won't your dad be suspicious if you're in an after-school program he didn't know about?"

Charles was wilting. "I was going to tell him we started home ec at school."

"Charles, you know you can't lie to your dad! You're terrible at it!" Jake sighed. "Listen, Dad says most criminals get caught when they think they can outsmart the police. We have to assume my Pop already knows everything. They could be telling parents everything we do. Pop might be in his car right now expecting hot, delicious latkes!"

Charles fidgeted, frowning. He looked like a kicked puppy. "Fine," he said, handing over the greasy bag. 

"Thanks, buddy," Jake said, but Charles' sad face made his chest hurt. "Think of it this way. If we get caught, you wouldn't be able to take the class at all. Isn't it worth it?"

"Yeah," Charles nodded glumly.

"Were there any handouts?"

Charles miserably unzipped his backpack and handed Jake a few food-stained pages.

"Thanks. I'll bring them to school and you can copy them out, okay?"

Charles nodded, but Jake's chest still hurt. 

"See you tomorrow!" he lunged forward, then stopped. Was it okay to hug? Was this a hugging situation? He knew most boys didn't hug, but this was Charles. It was usually okay. 

Jake took the plunge and hugged him, and Charles hugged back. Jake's chest hurt a little bit less.

Jake poked his head out of the bathroom and saw most of the kids still milling around inside the Kitchen Library. "Give me ten minutes to make sure we're gone," he said. Charles went back into the Kitchen Library, and Jake ran downstairs.

Gertie was sitting by a paid parking meter, engine turned off. Pop had a bunch of papers in front of him on the steering wheel and in the passenger seat, but he neatly gathered them all up and placed them in his briefcase when Jake knocked on the window. He put his briefcase on the backseat as Jake got in.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"Great!" said Jake. "We practiced our potato skills and learned all about knife science."

"Knife science," Pop said drily. "Very good. Is that latkes I smell?"

"Uh huh. See?" Jake showed him the paper bag. 

"Excellent," said Pop. “They will be a good side with the rosemary chicken I'm planning for tonight, and save us the trouble of messing around with _potato science_. And you can show me your knife skills," he smiled ever so slightly, his brow raised the way it did when he was being silly. 

"Cool, cool, cool,” said Jake, mentally planning for an explanation on why his knife skills were just as rough as ever.

At least he had gotten to hang out with Gina.

\--

The next five weeks were a dream for Jake Cozner-Holt. Thursdays were his new favourite day.

He and Gina hung out with other kids, went to the mall, and ate a ton of sugar (don't tell Pop.) He went to laser tag with Doug Judy (don't tell Dad) and hung out by the canal with Doug Judy (don't tell Dad _any_ of this!) 

Charles always looked like one of his dogs had died when giving Jake the take-homes, but he was nonetheless excited about the actual class every Thursday. He talked even _more_ about food, if that was possible.

Jake managed to keep up faking with his dads, though helping Pop make dinner was starting to get _dicey_ \-- get it?? He could only beg off with too much homework so often before they started to get suspicious, so finally he had to endure Pop's critical eye as he very roughly diced carrots-- get it now?? 

He ended up with a bunch of carrot bits, none of which were dice-sized or -shaped.

"You're being far too hesitant, Jacob," Pop scolded. "Why is your grip so low? I thought they were teaching you better than that. Here." He stood behind Jake and moved to guide his hands.

“Paaa-paaaa!” Jake whined, trying to wiggle away. He actually didn't mind when Pop took his hands and helped him cut, but he was waaaaay too big for that! What if someone saw?

"Leave the boy alone," said Dad, who was reading a case file at the table. "The class is only once a week. You know my painting didn't show any improvement until at least rock 43."

"Oh, yes," Pop said, raising his arms in defeat. "Those first few dozen were just grey blobs."

They smiled fondly at each other. Jake had to scrunch his eyes shut to keep from rolling them, and then his head hurt.

But they were happy, which made Jake happy. 

\--

On the fifth excellent week, Jake went to their rendezvous point at the usual time. Charles was as stone-faced as ever as he came into the bathroom.

“Alright, let’s do the swap!” Jake said expectantly.

“No, Jake,” said Charles.

“Sorry, what?” said Jake. “Sounded like you said no.”

Charles crossed his arms and squared his shoulders. His serious face made him look like a baby tasting something bad for the first time. “I want to take the macarons home.”

“No, Charles! Come on!” Jake cried. "We had a good thing going here. Don't ruin it!"

"I'm sorry, Jake," Charles said. "You're my best friend, and I want to help you, but I can't hide it from my dad anymore. Macarons are his favourite, and they're very hard to make.”

Jake pouted, the special pout that occasionally still worked on his dads, usually worked on his mom, and _always_ worked on Charles.

Charles fidgeted, and looked sweaty, but ultimately turned away. "Don't give me that charming gaze," he said. "It's not going to work."

Jake took the opportunity to open Charles' backpack while he was turned. "I'll just take them myself, Charles!"

"Nice try, Jake," Charles said. "I hid them in the kitchen. You can't go in there looking for them without blowing your cover."

"Augh!" Jake yanked the zipper of the backpack shut. "You're a mastermind!”

“I’m sorry, Jake,” Charles said again. “I was hoping you would just let me take them, but I knew you would try. I really don’t want to fight about this.”

“Well you’ve got yourself a fight, mister!” Jake shouted. “What am I supposed to tell Pop?"

Charles pursed his lips. “If you insist on fighting, then fine,” he said. He took a few deep breaths to prepare himself. Then he snapped: “I don't know what you'll tell Kevin, and I don't care.”

Jake's jaw dropped. Charles called Jake's pop by name even less often than Jake did. This was serious! 

"And," Charles added confidently, “I’m going to tell Genevieve my real name. I really like her, and I want to be friends."

"Noooo Charles, please!" Jake pleaded. This was bad. He'd never lost control of Charles like this. He actually got on one knee and clasped his hands. "Please, please at least wait until the class is over! Isn’t next week the last one?”

Charles frowned at him. "What will you give me?"

Jake boggled. “I— my Spider-mans! My 3DS! Anything!”

Charles sneered. “You have nothing I want,” he said. He turned away again, and Jake sprang up to grab him by the arm. 

"I still have to tell Pop what happened today! Can you at least give me that much?"

Charles narrowed his eyes. "We learned about French confections, and it was _awesome_. The teacher had half the prep work done already, otherwise there would never be enough time, but we got to do the most important parts. _And_ the teacher said _mine were the best!_ "

He spun on his heel and reached for the door.

“Wait!” Jake shouted. “What… what _are_ macarons?”

Charles squeaked impatiently. "They're the-- the little sandwich cookies! They crumble and they're extra sweet!"

"Oooh," Jake said in realization. “Those are good.” 

"We made them in pink almond-raspberry, and green pistachio, Jake. They were _delicious_ , and you can’t have any!” He flung open the bathroom door and went back into the Kitchen Library. 

Jake stood in stunned silence for a moment. With nothing else to do, he went down to meet Pop at the car. 

“Ah,” Pop said in greeting, looking happy as ever. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yes,” Jake said, still mentally catching up with what happened.

“I am looking forward to seeing what you made today,” Pop said as he started the car. “You were learning about French confections, if I remember correctly? My favourite.”

Jake looked at Pop, bug-eyed. He almost said he ruined the macarons, but there was the risk Pop would march him back up to discuss it with the teacher.

"I ate them,” he said, trying his best to look shamefaced. “They were really good. I couldn’t stop. Sorry.”

"I see," Pop said, and nobody else in the world would have been able to hear how disappointed he was, but Jake felt it like a punch in the gut. "Jacob, we really must work on your impulse control."

\--

Charles and Jake were officially in a full-on fight. Charles wouldn’t even speak to Jake at school on Friday.

“I don’t get it!” Jake paced around the playground, frustrated. “Why is he mad at me? _He_ started it!”

“Maybe it’s because you dangled the thing he wanted most in the world, but won’t let him share it with the person he loves most in the world?” Gina suggested, from where she was sprawled on the grass, drinking diet soda from her shiny metallic pineapple-shaped sippy cup. Today she wore a fluffy blue dress and black leg warmers, and her hair was up in a poofy ponytail on top of her head. 

“That’s crazy,” Jake said, but his chest was starting to hurt again. “Charles wanted to learn to cook. It’s a win-win!”

“If you say so,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. She was also scrolling through her phone, so maybe she wasn’t paying attention. If she was, she’d be on Jake’s side, _obviously_. 

—

Jake managed to forget about Charles briefly, because it was his weekend with his mom, but it was right back into the silent treatment on Monday. He took comfort in the cooking class being over soon. There was only one week left. 

On Tuesday night, Jake was ravenous after karate practice. Still wearing his gi, he scarfed down his coconut shrimp curry and rice while his dads talked about whatever. 

Dad had to go back to work after dinner. Jake was barely paying attention when Pop answered the phone, pretending to karate chop an oblivious Cheddar.

“Ah, thank you. We’re looking forward to it. Raymond, Jacob and I will see you then,” Pop said. He hung up the phone and smiled his tiny little smile at Jake. “Help me with the dishes, Jacob.”

Jake obediently started bringing dishes to the sink. He was starting to get a suspicious feeling in his gut, just like cops do. A _hunch_. “Who was calling?” he asked.

“It was Beckett from the Park Slope Kitchen Library,” said Pop.

“Oh.”

“He was calling to tell me how pleased I should be with your progress,” Pop continued. “He said you’re the best student.” He was almost buzzing with pride.

“Oh.”

“And he was confirming that both Raymond and I will be there for parent’s night on Thursday.”

“Parent’s night?” Jake said. Then quickly: “Yeah, that’ll be great. Lots of yummy surprises.” He smiled weakly.

Pop tousled his hair. “Go wash up,” he said. “Put your gi in the hamper and bring it to the laundry room.” 

Jake was happy to have an excuse to leave.

—

Charles was stubbornly sitting at a different lunch table than their usual. Jake ran up and slammed his lunch bag down. 

“We have to figure out what to do about parent’s night,” he said. 

Charles was keeping his serious baby tasting face on. “I think _you_ need to figure out what _you’re_ doing, Jake. I’m bringing my dad.”

“What? No!” Jake cried. “Charles, why are you being like this? Why can’t you just be cool and go along with it for one more day?”

Gina slinked over, looking interested, but Charles ignored her. 

“Why can’t _you_ be cool, Jake?” he spat. “I thought you were doing a nice thing letting me take the class, but then you take away my take-homes and make me lie to my dad! It’s just to do _you_ a favour! Well, I have something to say!”

He stood up. Jake and Gina both leaned back in their seats. Jake had never seen Charles so angry before. Other kids were watching. 

“You’re my best friend, Jake!” Charles shouted. “I love you!” 

Gina started laughing, but at least covered her face and tried to be quiet about it. 

“But I also love my dad!” Charles went on. “And unlike you, some of us don’t like lying to our dads! And some of us like food! So why don’t _you_ stop pretending to be something you’re not and let the rest of us share things! That are! Im— important!” He got flustered, and tripped over his tongue. 

“Charles,” Jake started. 

Charles grabbed his tray and walked swiftly out of the room. 

“That was something to behold,” Gina said drily. “I am almost a little impressed.” Today she was wearing a bright blue sweater with a fuzzy wolf on it, jean shorts, knee-high pink Converse, and a flower crown. 

Jake whined, wiggling around on the bench. “What am I going to do? Pop and Dad are _going to the Kitchen Library_ Gina!”

“Calm down, buttercup,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Gina’s gonna tell you exactly how to handle this sitch.”

He looked at her expectantly. 

“Tell your dads the truth,” she said. 

“What? That’s it??” Jake stared at her in shock. “Gina, you once told me that lies and deception were hands-down the best way to solve any problem.”

“Yeah, if you’re _me,_ ” she said breezily. “Kid, if I were in charge of this caper from the get-go, we’d all be sitting on mad stacks right now. You, on the other hand, with your puppy dog face, are hopeless at it. A little white lie for the dads here and there is one thing, but you’re messing with powerful magic, baby bird.” 

Jake scowled. “What, tell them I skipped the chef class and made Charles take my place and then took his hard-earned take-home treats away from him? For what? They’ll think I…” he broke off with a few sarcastic guffaws to hide how much he was actually panicking.

“Tell them the whole kit and caboodle, kitten,” she said. “Tell them you did it because you have too many dang activities. That’s what you should have said weeks ago, anyway,” she said.

“You should have told me weeks ago!”

“Girl, I did tell you!”

Jake sputtered. “No you didn’t! Oh, you’re no help, Gina. I have to figure out some non-truth way to get out of this. I’m sure I’ll come up with a plan by tomorrow night!” He picked up his lunch bag and stormed out of the cafeteria.

“Powerful magic, Jake!” Gina shouted after him.

\--

Thursday night came. School was over. The chef class would cook for an hour, when the parents would arrive for dinner. Jake still had no plan. 

Doug Judy wanted to go to the arcade, but Jake wasn’t sure if he should go to the class and try to at least sit in on the last one, or if that would just make things worse. The teacher didn’t even know him. 

“The way I see it,” said Doug Judy, ambling down the street. “You’re gonna get made either way, boo. You might as well enjoy one last night of sweet freedom!” 

“Yeah,” said Jake, even as his stomach clenched. “I guess you’re right.” 

They went to the arcade and Doug Judy put Jake on his shoulders so they could dunk the basketball and get tons of tickets. They didn’t get caught, and they traded the tickets for a pair of toy nunchucks. It was pretty awesome, but Jake’s heart wasn’t in it. He let Doug Judy keep the nunchucks.

Soon it was time for the parents to be arriving at the Kitchen Library. Jake ran up the stairs and waited in the bathroom. 

Still. No. Plan. He stood in the bathroom, trying not to pass out, as he heard parents coming up the stairs. 

Maybe he could hide in the bathroom all night. He scowled at himself. How would he explain that one??

When he peeked out from the bathroom, he could see both his dads in the Kitchen Library. 

And they were talking to Mr. Boyle. 

“Well,” he whispered to himself. “Guess it’s time to get made. It was fun while it lasted.”

He slinked into the Kitchen Library, shoulders bunched up nervously. 

“Ah, there you are,” Pop said, smiling. “You didn’t tell me Charles was in this class with you.” 

Charles was standing next to Mr. Boyle. He looked at the floor, and wouldn’t meet Jake’s eyes. 

“Charles has been having so much fun,” said Mr. Boyle. “He won his spot here in a contest at school, you know.”

“Oh really,” Pop said affably. “You must be very proud. I know Charles is quite the little chef.” 

Jake looked at Charles in surprise. He hadn’t told his dad the truth? Charles fidgeted, and Jake noticed his hands were fisting in his shirt. 

Jake’s chest hurt again. It seemed to always hurt lately.

Gina was right. He had to tell the truth. 

“Pop…” he started, but his voice was so small. 

“Hi!” The teacher, a young man with a trimmed beard and thick glasses, came over and stuck his hand in front of Mr. Boyle. “You must be Professor Cozner! Great to finally meet you!”

Mr. Boyle looked like a surprised fish, mouth opening and closing, eyes big and round. 

“Terribly sorry,” Pop said. “I’m Professor Cozner. We spoke on the phone.” 

“Oh!” The teacher shook Pop’s hand. “Sorry, I just… the way you were standing next to Jake here!” He patted Charles’ shoulder. Charles looked like he wanted to crawl into a cupboard and hide. 

“Pop…” Jake tried to speak up again, but again his voice was too small. 

“Jake here is our top student. I know he’s stoked to share his cooking with you tonight!” The teacher beamed down at Charles, who looked white as a sheet. 

Pop tilted his head. “I think there’s been a miscommunication,” he said. 

“No. I understand,” said Dad. He gently put a hand on Pop’s arm and whispered in his ear.

“Oh,” said Pop. The slight flatness in his voice made Jake want to throw up. “I see. It appears the misunderstanding was ours. My apologies. Enjoy your evening.” He turned stiffly towards the door. 

“Come along, Jacob,” Dad said softly. He put his arm on Jake’s shoulder, but it didn’t make Jake feel any better. 

—

The car ride home was silent and tense. Jake fidgeted in the backseat and tried not to cry or throw up. He was close to just bursting out “I’m sorry!” but he had a feeling saying anything at all right now was just going to make things worse. 

They got home in similar silence, and Dad ushered Jake into the breakfast nook. Jake slumped on one of the chairs while Dad filled glasses of water for them. 

“I’m afraid I had nothing planned for dinner,” Pop said tersely, not looking at Jake. “Perhaps we should just order in.” He opened a drawer to get their sparse collection of takeout menus.

Jake gulped. The takeout menus were only ever used when Aunt Debbie and Marcus came over, or when Uncle Terry was babysitting. Pop must really be feeling bad. 

“There’s no need to be rash, Kevin,” Dad said softly. He glanced briefly at Jake, and put a hand on Pop’s shoulder. He gently took the menus away from him. “I suggest a cool-down period.”

“You’re right, of course. I will go wash up. Please excuse me.” Pop left the room, still not looking at Jake.

Cheddar was standing at the foot of the stairs, watching her family curiously. She looked at Jake, then turned to follow Pop upstairs. 

_Even Cheddar hates me,_ Jake thought miserably. He laid his head down on the table as the tears started coming in earnest.

He heard Dad sit next to him and sigh. “You need to talk to me, Jacob.”

Jake started sobbing outright. What was he supposed to say? How deeply heartsick he was over hurting Pop’s feelings? How much his tummy hurt over all the lies he’d been telling? How overwhelmed he felt, how much he just wanted five minutes to rest?

For some reason, all that came out was an embarrassingly childish wail. “Papa haaaaates meeeee!” he sobbed.

“Oh, Jacob. Sweetheart. He most assuredly does not.” Strong arms embraced Jake and scooped him up, until Dad had him bundled on his lap.

“I’m too biiiiig,” Jake whined, even as he burrowed into the safety of Dad’s embrace. He buried his face in Dad’s shoulder.

“Hush now. You are just the right size,” Dad said. He fished a clean handkerchief out for Jake to sob into, and stroked the boy’s head. 

Jake continued to sob. “He hates me now,” he insisted. “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings!”

Dad rocked him slightly, kissing his hair and humming tunelessly, his deep, rumbling voice soothing Jake’s frazzled nerves. “I know quite well what it feels like to disappoint Kevin,” he said. “I know it hurts. But he could never hate you. It is simply not possible.”

Jake only whined.

Dad hugged him tighter. “Jacob, we love you more than anything. Do you understand that?”

Jake sniffled. “Yeah,” he said, grudgingly.

Dad sighed and shook his head. “Why did you do it? What were you thinking?”

“I just…” Jake sniffled again. He honestly wasn’t sure anymore. Like most things, it seemed like a good idea at the time. “You wouldn’t want to take a cooking class, either!”

“You are correct,” said Dad. “But I would have at least tried it. I was not interested in painting, either, until your father insisted I try it with him one evening. And now look at me. An accomplished artist, if I dare say so myself.”

Jake wiggled out of Dad’s arms and looked up at him. “If it was a cooking class _with Pop_ I wouldn’t mind!” he said. “But I just… it’s _boring_ by itself!”

“Jacob…” Dad said slowly. “I know when you’re twelve, the world seems very small.” 

Jake groaned and buried his head in Dad’s shoulder again. Here came _this_ lecture.

“I know many of these things seem permanent, but they are not. It was only six weeks.”

“It wasn’t, though,” Jake grumbled. “As soon as I’m done one thing, another thing starts.”

Dad was quiet for a moment, stroking Jake’s back. “I see,” he finally said.

The doorbell rang, startling Jake.

“Who could that be?” Dad mused. He gently settled Jake back in his chair and went to answer the door. 

Jake slumped down over the table.

“Regina,” he heard Dad say. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Jake hopped out of his chair and ran out to the vestibule, wiping his face. “Gina?”

Gina stood in the doorway with her head cocked and one hand on her hip. She was wearing a long coat that looked like a sailor suit, a tiara made out of crystals, sparkly silver leggings, and strappy shoes with cat faces on them. “I’m here to save the day, Uncle Ray. Where’s Kev?”

“How did you get here?” Dad looked out into the fading light of the evening.

“Mom’s boyfriend drove me.” Gina gestured at a car idling a few spots down the street, blasting old-person rock music. The car’s lights flashed. “Ugh!” Gina rolled her eyes. “Just circle the block, Craig!” she shouted over her shoulder.

Obediently, the car crept out of the spot and drove around the corner.

“Can I come in?” she asked expectantly.

“Of course,” Dad said, confused.

Pop came down the stairs, and Jake shrank back. “Regina? What are you doing here?”

“Okay, next time gather the whole fam before asking questions. Time is money.” Gina marched over and put her arm around Jake. “I’ve come to save the day.”

“Gina—” Jake started, but she put her hand over his mouth.

“Shush,” she ordered. “I believe chef class is supposed to go another hour. Curious how you’re all home so early, c'est non?”

Jake’s dads both had their arms crossed, making identical puzzled expressions— totally blank faced with right brows raised the tiniest bit.

“I knew this would end in tears. What did I tell you in the very beginning, Jake? I said I should march over here and give your dads a piece of my mind. And fool you are, you didn’t take me up on it.”

“What—” but she was already in front of his dads, hands on her hips.

“You have Jake in too many activities. He’s self-destructing. The only reason you haven’t noticed is because his grades aren’t slipping yet, and quite frankly, that’s pathetic.”

Pop, looking scandalized, opened his mouth, but Gina plowed on.

“I wouldn’t normally get involved, but I like Jake, and I like you two. He’s afraid to tell you he doesn’t like half the hobbies you have him doing because he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, and I can’t blame him, because the stench of insecurity coming off the two of you is _strong_.”

Now Dad looked scandalized. Jake covered his face, wishing for a sinkhole to swallow him up.

“Jake is _awesome_ ,” Gina went on. “He doesn’t need any improvements. And do you think successful, well-rounded adults spent every day of their childhood learning stuff? No! My mom didn’t even _go_ to school half the time, and she’s amazing.”

Pop was clenching his jaw now, and looking at the floor.

“You know who _did_ waste his youth in _clubs_ and _activities_? Craig. That’s just one of the reasons he sucks.” Gina tossed her hair dramatically. “Now, I do think Jake was wrong to lie, and I one _hundred_ percent think you should ground him for it.”

“Gina!” Jake cried.

“But you should also let him be a regular kid, at least a _few_ nights a week! Otherwise he’ll end up weird. Like Craig. I’m done now.”

There was a very tense beat. Jake covered his face again. _Now they’ll probably say I can’t hang out with Gina anymore!_ he thought.

Finally, Dad and Pop shared a look. Pop turned away.

“Well, you have given us a lot to think about, Regina,” said Dad. “Though I can’t say we care for your method of delivery.”

Gina shrugged nonchalantly. “If you were on Insta, it would’ve been easier, but that’s not my fault.”

“Let me take you home,” said Dad. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you being alone with that Craig person.”

“Sure! I’ll just text him to beat it.” She typed on her phone while Dad put his coat on. Then she hugged Jake briefly. “You’re welcome!” she sing-songed.

“Welcome for what??” he hissed as she and Dad left the house.

Pop was still standing with his arms crossed, but his posture was a tiny bit more slouched than usual. “Come, Jacob,” he said, and led Jake into the parlour.

They sat across from each other for what felt like a long, long time. Jake tried not to fidget and slump dramatically in his seat.

Finally, Pop patted the couch next to him. “Come sit with me,” he said.

Jake scrambled over. When Pop put an arm around him, he immediately snuggled into the hug, no longer concerned about being too big.

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably.

“I know,” Pop said, sighing a sigh that made Jake think that wouldn’t be enough this time.

Jake started crying again. He said he was sorry! He wanted to be forgiven now and be done with it! “I know food is important to you,” he tried. 

“It is,” said Pop. “I wanted to share it with you. That’s all I was trying to do.”

“I do like cooking with you,” Jake said. “But not by itself.”

Pop sighed again. They cuddled in silence for a while.

“You must have felt quite desperate,” Pop said, “to have orchestrated all this. Why didn’t you just tell us?”

Jake sniffled, tears still coming. He hated how he always had to go through things twice. “You wouldn’t have listened,” he said. “You would have made me go anyway!”

“I would like to think I would have listened,” Pop said sadly. “But perhaps you are right. And perhaps Regina was right. We have you in too many activities.”

“Way too many,” Jake mumbled. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t think you would find out. I know that’s not an excuse, I just… you were so happy. I thought we could all be happy. Charles, too.”

Pop huffed a little laugh and kissed Jake’s hair. “Even in this, you’re always thinking of others. You make it very hard to stay upset.”

Jake peeked up at Pop, who smiled at him.

“I forgive you,” said Pop.

“Really?” Jake shot up and hugged Pop tight. “Thank you!” Pop hugged him back, laughing.

—

In the end, they ordered what Doug Judy called “hipster pizza,” which was flat and crispy and had arugula and goat’s cheese. Jake still liked it.

Dad got back while Pop and Jake were making a salad together. “I take it all is well?” he asked.

“Quite,” said Pop. “But I believe we need to have a talk.”

“I agree,” said Dad.

 _Ugghh,_ thought Jake. _More talking!_ He was all cried out and just wanted to eat pizza and read comics.

The phone rang, and Dad answered it. “Please don’t trouble yourself, Lynn,” he said. “We’re sorry for what happened, and we’re not angry with Charles. Please, consider it a gift. You know he’s like one of ours.” 

Jake ducked his head, cringing. He hoped Charles wasn’t in too much trouble with his dad. 

They talked about other things while they ate their salad, and Jake found he did feel better after having some food. When the pizza arrived, he wasn’t sad anymore.

“I believe we need to be more communicative,” said Dad as Jake tore into a big slice. “I propose 30% more honesty on your part, Jacob, while Kevin and I will try to be 20% more accommodating.”

“Only 30% more honesty?” Jake asked around a mouthful of pizza. “Not total honesty?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Dad. “And I think a young man is entitled to a little bit of privacy.” He said it with such gravitas that it made Jake laugh.

“I think we could match his honesty with 30% more accommodation, Raymond,” Kevin countered. “How about only two activities a week, not counting Brooklyn Scouts, and an equal vote in new activities.”

“That’s still two against one,” Jake grumbled.

“That is, unfortunately, how democracies work,” Pop said. Jake knew he was about to say _most children don’t get a vote at all_ but stopped himself.

“Indeed,” said Dad, cutting up his pizza with a knife and fork. “In any case, Jacob, I want you to get out of this habit of lying, and commit yourself to that 30% goal.”

“Well, in that case…” Jake said, waiting for Dad to take a bite of his pizza. “About oboe…”

\-- 

He did get grounded, but only for a week, and things weren’t as tense as he was dreading. Pop made him pancakes for breakfast the next day, and kissed his forehead so many times that Jake had to push him away and run off, laughing.

He met Gina at their usual spot and they walked the rest of the way together. Today she was wearing a plaid dress and tennis shoes, but she had a giant, furry white hat with icy blue lights in it, which Jake knew was just so she could fight with teachers about it. 

“I guess I do have to say thanks,” Jake grumbled. “It was a lot easier after you said all that.”

“I already said you’re welcome,” Gina said. “Just remember that next time, you shouldn’t mess around with powers beyond your control!”

They saw Charles’ hunched over figure on the playground as they got closer, and Jake’s chest started to hurt again. “Uh… hey Charles,” he said weakly.

Charles spun, eyes huge. “Jake!” He cried. He lunged at Jake and hugged him tight.

“Um… what?” Jake said. He heard Gina scoffing and stepping back.

“I’m sorry!” Charles cried. “I feel terrible about messing up your plan!”

“No, Charles—”

“I made you a card!” Jake realized Charles was holding a folded piece of poster paper. It made a giant card, decorated with cut out pictures of Spider-man and the Ninja Turtles, and a ton of glitter.

“Oh, brother,” said Gina. Jake couldn’t see her, but she was definitely rolling her eyes.

Inside there was even more glitter, and puffy paint spelling out I’M SORRY, and some pictures of Charles and Jake together with more Spider-mans. 

The pain in Jake’s chest was throbbing now, and he felt his throat get tight as he started to cry again.

“I feel really bad about being so mean to you,” Charles said. “I hope we’re still friends!”

“Of course we’re still friends!” Jake choked out. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble!”

“ _I’m_ sorry I got _you_ in trouble!” Charles was crying, too. 

“I shouldn’t have made you do it!” 

“I should’ve said no! And if I didn’t say no, I shouldn’t have ruined it! I’m sorry! You’re my best friend!’

“You’re _my_ best friend!” Jake sobbed. He and Charles clutched at each other, crying. “I shouldn’t have made you lie for me!”

“You were being nice to me! I shouldn’t have taken it from you!” Charles sobbed.

“I don’t know them,” he heard Gina say loudly to some passing kids.

“Was your dad angry?” Jake asked, disengaging from the hug and looking down at the card.

“A little. He was mostly embarrassed,” Charles said, “which feels even worse, somehow.”

“My dads were embarrassed, too,” Jake said. “What about that girl? Genevieve?”

“She thought it was weird,” Charles said. “But I think she still wants to be friends.”

“Good!” Jake said firmly. “You’re awesome and she should be your friend.” He scuffed his shoe. “Thank you for the card. I’m glad you’re not mad at me.”

“I could never be mad at you!” Charles cried. 

“Great!” Gina got between them pointedly. “Now that this ugly affair is behind us, can we _please_ talk about _me_ for once?”

Gina started telling them all about the latest drama with her eighth grade friends as they walked into the school. Jake carefully handled Charles’ card, and smiled. It was Friday, and the weekend was coming, and he was going to spend it with his friends.

THE END.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr!](http://vivarocksteady.tumblr.com/)


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